Ask Me About Mom
by Maran Zelde
Summary: Gaz invents a memory for Dib in this OOC oneshot.


Disclaimer: Dib and Gaz are trademarks of Viacom. Used without permission, but not for profit.   
  
  
  
Dib sat alone in his room with nothing but his freakish posters and models to keep him company. Longing for a familiar face, he pulled a dogeared picture out of his coat pocket. The woman in the picture had warm, golden brown eyes, like two freshly glazed donut holes floating in bowls of milk. Hair the color of jelly fell gently to her shoulders (Dib was hungry, okay?)   
"Oh, Mom," said Dib, "I know you would understand." Sighing, he pocketed the picture and went down to the kitchen, where his sister was getting a soda.   
"Gaz, tell me about Mom."   
The girl's eyes rolled to the ceiling. "We've been over this, genius. I don't remember her any better than you do. How could I?"   
"Because you're Gaz."   
"True," she admitted. "But I still don't remember her. I don't even know what she looked like."   
"But--" Dib dug into his pocket "--what about my picture?"   
"Dib, you drew that in crayon."   
He pouted a little. "I thought it was pretty convincing."   
Dib put the drawing away and found a box of Wheat Thins and a Poop Cola. With this odd mix of real and fictional brands, he sat across the table from his younger but much scarier sibling, who had settled down with her soda and a book.   
"Are you sure you don't remember her?"   
Gaz's tiny hands clenched her book. "Dib, I don't know what you're on or what you're off, but you must get it into your huge head that I _do not remember Mom!"_   
Dib munched on his Wheat Thins for a moment before speaking again.   
"Not even a little?"   
The ill-tempered girl would have bashed her brother's head in with a chair had she not remembered that they were permanently attatched to the floor like the ones at most McMeaties. Then she also recalled an old trick she had been taught at her anger management class: count to ten. After reaching ten, she remembered something else she had learned.   
"Hey Dib, let's . . ." what was that word again? ". . . Compromise. I'll tell you about Mom if you promise never to bug me about her again."   
"How about a month?"   
"Fine," sighed Gaz. "I guess it's the most I can expect from you."   
Gaz did not have much experience making up stories. Hers went something like this:   
"Mom used to stay home with us while Dad worked. She loved to watch soap operas and talk shows. And, um, every night she'd tuck us in and tell us how much she loved us." Gaz was feeling stupider by the second, but Dib seemed almost spellbound by her words.   
"What did she smell like?"   
Smell? What a wierd question. "I dunno, new shoes?"   
The boy shook his head. "I think she smelled like oranges."   
"Hey, who's telling this story?"   
"Sorry."   
"Anyway, Mom would take us to the park, the zoo, the department store, stuff like that. But she began to get very sick. She went out less and less and watched TV more and more as the weeks went by. Finally, in the moments before she died, she pulled us onto her lap with her last remaining strength and said, 'Son, I want you to be nice to your sister, and don't talk to her anymore because she can't stand the sound of your voice. And _always_ save the last slice of pizza for her.'"   
"She said that, huh?" Dib's knowing smile told Gaz that he wasn't quite as stupid (and/or drugged) as she'd thought.   
"What, you don't believe me?"   
"Just keep going."   
"Well, you said, 'Okay Mommy! I promise.' Then she died with a smile on her face and that was that."   
"Didn't she say anything to you?"   
"No, but it doesn't matter. I know she loved me."   
Dib grinned. "Thanks for that, Gaz. I know you don't really remember her. I just wanted to know what you thought she was like. I'm surprised you made her so happy. I mean, dying with a smile on her face?"   
"Yeah, well . . ." she turned back to her book. "Just 'cause I'm not happy doesn't mean Mom wasn't."   
As Dib stood to leave, Gaz looked up once more. "Don't forget our deal. I fully expect you to ask me about Mom when the month is up."   
"You got it."   
  
  
  
A/N: I originally intended this to be a full fledged irreverent parody (much like "Let's Die!") but for some reason it came out as a lighthearted (if somewhat OOC) brother-sister bonding fic. Oh well, I suppose that's good too. 


End file.
